‘There you are then.’ He nodded. ‘You might beat me yet.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘To get your castle back?’
‘I thought it was our castle now.’
‘It is.’
‘Then I don’t need to beat you, do I? Not any more. Especially since you chose not to shoot me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Besides, I quite like the idea of being a queen.’ She dug her heels into her horse’s flanks, spurring ahead so that he only just caught her next words. ‘More than being a stablehand anyway.’
* * *
Lothar looked around with satisfaction as they rode back into the bailey at last. All the preparations he’d ordered seemed to be going according to plan, which meant there was only one thing left to do, not that he was any closer to working out how to do it. He’d been searching for the right words the whole journey back, but his mind was still a blank. It wasn’t a question he’d ever considered, let alone thought about asking before—though if he didn’t ask it soon, she’d find out what he was planning by accident.
‘Black stands for grief.’
‘What?’ He twisted towards her in surprise, wondering if he’d missed the start of some conversation, but she seemed deep in thought, apparently oblivious to all the activity going on in the bailey. He was glad about that, but what on earth was she talking about?
‘We were talking about crests before.’ She gave him a look that suggested her meaning ought to be obvious. ‘Black on a crest stands for grief. You always wear black.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
She made a face. ‘I was about to say something nice.’
‘In that case, I take it back. I’ve never noticed what I wear.’
‘I don’t want to say it now.’
His lips twitched at her aggrieved tone. ‘But I want to hear it. It’s not every day someone says something nice about me.’
‘I can’t imagine why not.’
‘Do I have to beg?’
She made a harrumphing sound. ‘I’d like to see that.’
‘All right.’
He dismounted at once, dropping to one knee in the dirt beside her.
‘What are you doing?’ She looked around quickly. ‘People will see!’
‘You told me to beg so I’m begging. Do I have to beseech you as well?’
‘No!’ She slid down and grabbed his hands, trying to hoist him back to his feet. ‘No beseeching!’
‘So tell me then. What nice thing were you going to say about me?’
She rolled her eyes when he still didn’t budge. ‘I was just going to say that black stands for constancy, too.’
‘Ah.’
‘Because you’re loyal.’ She sounded faintly embarrassed. ‘To the Empress, I mean.’
He frowned at the implication. She’d said something similar earlier.
‘To you as well. You’re my wife, Juliana, I pledged my loyalty to you, too.’
He glanced down at the light smattering of snow on the ground beneath him, as if the words he wanted to say might be written there somewhere. He felt faintly ridiculous, but now that he’d started, he had to finish.
‘Will you marry me?’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘I don’t understand. We are married, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t ask you the first time. Your father did. So I’m asking you now. When I sent Ulf to the village this morning, I made other arrangements as well.’
‘What kind of arrangements?’
‘For a proper wedding with a feast.’ He cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘I want to do it properly. There were no witnesses before.’
‘Are you afraid that I’ll try to deny it?’
‘No, but for the avoidance of doubt it would be better if we made the vows formally, in case it’s ever called into question in the future.’
He wondered briefly if he ought to tell her about the Empress’s plans for him in that future, before deciding against it. He had a suspicion that mentioning Matilda’s name wouldn’t persuade her of anything.
‘Trust me, Juliana, it’s for your own safety. I want everyone to know that we’re married. There are plenty of men like Sir Guian in the world, but this way, if any of them dare to touch you again, I can maim them with a clear conscience.’
‘Well, when you put it like that...’ Her lips curved in that breathtaking smile again. ‘When have you made the arrangements for?’
‘Right now, if you’re amenable.’
Her eyes widened and he felt the band around his chest tighten again. Damn it all, how did she do that to him? He seemed to have no control over his own body any more.
‘If you don’t want to—’
‘No,’ she interrupted him, ‘it’s not that. It’s just... I want to do it properly, too. Give me one hour.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘What do you think?’ Juliana ran her hands over the front of her best gown, smoothing out the wrinkles as Alys and Maud exchanged dubious glances. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s just...’ Alys sounded as if she were trying her hardest to be tactful. ‘It’s not very pretty.’
‘It’s my best dress!’
‘That doesn’t necessarily make it the best choice.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
She dropped down on to her bed with a dispirited sigh. Her coffer was stacked high with practical tunics in sensible shades of brown and green, none of which seemed remotely suitable as a wedding dress. Hard-wearing and functional, yes. Pretty, no, and she wanted to look pretty for her wedding. She wanted her husband to think she looked pretty, too, though as to why it should mean so much to her...
‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’ She kicked the side of her coffer resentfully. ‘He already knows what I look like.’
‘Perhaps if we decorated it with some flowers?’ Maud came and perched beside her.
‘It’s winter.’
‘A brooch, then?’
She folded her arms with a sigh. She knew her maids were only trying to help, but she was starting to regret the whole idea of dressing up. It was easy for them. Alys’s corn-gold hair hung down to her waist like a tumbling waterfall, whilst Maud’s wide, hazel-brown eyes seemed to entrance every man who looked into them. They were both naturally pretty, whereas she... She sighed again. She’d been scrubbed, rinsed and brushed within an inch of her life, yet apparently she looked no different to the way she had before. Doubtless Lothar would think the same thing when he saw her. He’d probably just wonder what had taken her so long.
‘Are you worried about tonight?’ Alys came and sat on her other side.
‘Tonight?’ She looked up in consternation. Why would she be worried about tonight?
‘Has anyone told you what to expect?’
‘Alys!’ Maud hissed across the bed.
‘Well, someone ought to tell her,’ Alys argued back. ‘Who else is going to?’
Juliana cleared her throat in embarrassment. They were talking about her wedding night, the first official one she’d spend with her husband, as if it were something she ought to be nervous about, and she could hardly correct them without admitting the demeaning truth—that her husband not only thought she looked like a stablehand, but was in love with another woman as well. He wouldn’t want to bed her. He’d proven that in the way he’d raced out of her chamber that morning. Whereas she...shamefully, she hadn’t wanted him to go. Her body seemed to react in all kinds of surprising ways whenever he was close by, though surely that was just due to the shock of being married—even if she had touched him twice in one day, once when she’d stroked his scar in bed, the other when she’d calmed him down that afternoon. Not that he’d seemed to object on either o
ccasion. And sometimes, when he looked at her, it seemed as if he were holding himself back...
‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’ She tried to sound dismissive.
‘You know there’ll be a bedding ceremony.’
‘A what?’ She gaped in astonishment. No, she hadn’t known that. She’d never even been to a wedding, let alone heard of a bedding ceremony.
‘That’s when he takes you to bed. Everyone follows to make sure you’re really married.’
‘But we’re already married! We were married two weeks ago.’
‘Yes, but not properly. You know...’ Alys gave her a nudge ‘...in bed.’
‘You mean we’re not properly married until we get into bed together?’
‘And the rest.’
‘What rest?’
‘Juliana.’ Maud took her hand as Alys rolled her eyes with exasperation. ‘Do you know what the marriage debt is?’
She shook her head, torn between wanting to put an end to the conversation and wanting to understand what on earth they were talking about.
‘Well, when you’re married, your husband has the right to demand certain...things of you. To have children, for example.’
‘How can he demand that I have children?’
‘Well, not children themselves...’ even Maud looked embarrassed now ‘...but the means of making them. If he wants to lie with you.’
‘Oh!’
She gulped, appalled by the idea. She’d never imagined that a husband could simply make such a demand. As if having control over every other aspect of a wife’s existence wasn’t bad enough, now it seemed they could demand that, too! It was wrong, unjust and yet, in her case, not very likely either. Considering that Lothar had only married her as a favour to her father, she thought it highly doubtful that he’d ever demand such a thing from her.
‘It might hurt the first time,’ Alys interjected, ‘but only at first.’
‘In any case, there won’t be a wedding unless we hurry.’ Maud jumped back to her feet. ‘He’ll be wondering where you are. And there’s nothing wrong with your gown really. It’s perfectly respectable.’
Respectable. She forced her mind back to the matter in hand. ‘I just wish I had something in blue. Brides are supposed to wear blue for purity.’
‘But that’s perfect!’ Maud clapped her hands impetuously. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Blue!’
‘Think of what?’ Juliana exchanged confused glances with Alys as Maud charged out of the room suddenly, returning a few minutes later half-hidden behind a vast pile of silk.
‘You see!’ Maud shook out the material triumphantly, revealing a gorgeous, midnight-blue gown embroidered around the neck and hems with silver thread. ‘You do have something blue. Your father kept all your mother’s old gowns for you to have some day. I air them out every few months.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Juliana gasped in amazement, ‘but I can’t wear that.’
‘Why not?’ Alys stroked the fabric admiringly. ‘Somebody should. The colour’s perfect for you.’
‘I’m sure your mother would have wanted you to have it,’ Maud smiled encouragingly, ‘especially on your wedding day.’
Juliana reached for the gown slowly, half-afraid to touch something so beautiful. Maud was right. Surely her mother would have wanted her to wear it, though she’d never worn anything of hers before. She’d spent her life hearing about how elegant and ladylike her mother had been. How could she possibly hope to live up to such an ideal? Still, it was worth a try...
‘You don’t think I’ll look ridiculous?’
‘Trust us.’ Maud’s smile spread from ear to ear. ‘You’re going to look stunning.’
* * *
Where was she? Lothar marched up and down the hall impatiently, stopping every few minutes to glare in the direction of the stairwell. She’d said she needed an hour, but surely it must have been twice as long already. He’d had time to bathe and shave, for the second time in one day, get dressed and make a tour of the bailey in the time it had taken her to...do what exactly? It wasn’t as if she ever paid any attention to her appearance! She probably wouldn’t even bother to change her gown. In which case, what was she doing? If she’d changed her mind, she could at least send somebody to tell him, not leave him waiting like a fool at his own wedding.
‘Sergeant?’ Ulf waylaid him as he began another lap of the room.
‘Yes, Constable?’ He tried not to snap.
‘There’s no need to worry, sir. She never goes back on her word.’
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Reassuring as the words were, they also meant he wasn’t imagining things. She really was taking a long time. Fuming, he looked down at the plain gold band he’d found in a stall in Devizes, a replacement for Matilda’s ring, though why he’d needed to find a replacement was still beyond him. He’d intended to give it to Juliana during the ceremony, though now he was starting to wonder if that was ever going to happen.
Not that it mattered whether she made an appearance, he reminded himself. They were already legally married. Whether she agreed to another ceremony or not really meant nothing at all. He was doing it simply as a further means of protecting her, in case anyone challenged her right to hold the castle in the future. It didn’t mean anything to him personally and it wouldn’t change anything between them privately either. Even if he felt more nervous than he ever had in his life.
He was scowling in the direction of the stairwell when she finally appeared, clenching his jaw so fiercely that for a moment he found it difficult to breathe. The woman in front of him had the same face and build as Juliana, the same vivid shade of burgundy-coloured hair coiled in a long plait over one shoulder, but everything else about her seemed completely different. She was dressed in a trailing blue gown with a low, square neckline that emphasised the mounds of her breasts to tantalising perfection, not to mention every other curve where the silken fabric clung to her body. Was it really her? He felt as if his senses were reeling, as if he’d drunk some of her poppy-milk medicine again. Surely only that could explain this astounded sensation, as if he were looking at a familiar and yet completely different woman.
‘Lothar?’ She approached with a nervous expression, peering up through her eyelashes as if she were afraid of what he might be thinking. The gesture reminded him of the first time they’d met, when she’d been trying to lure him inside the castle. She’d looked at him in the same way then, but the difference had been that he’d known it was a pretence. Now he didn’t know anything except that this time, if she were trying to seduce him, then she was very definitely succeeding.
Not that he could let himself be tempted. She looked even more like a queen—one who deserved better than him. Never mind the fact that he was leaving. In a couple of months at the most, he’d be crossing the Channel for Normandy, possibly never to return. Even if he cared for her, which he wasn’t capable of, even if he was worthy, which he wasn’t, even if he wanted to, which he definitely did, he couldn’t lie with her and then simply leave. It had been hard enough leaving Haword the first time.
‘Are you ready?’
His voice sounded harsh even to him and her expression wavered slightly.
‘Yes, but I have something for you first.’ She held out a blue ribbon. ‘It’s for luck. May I?’
He nodded silently and she reached up, wrapping the ribbon around his bicep so gently that he found himself wanting to bend down and kiss her right there and then. He turned his face away instead, stamping down a fierce rush of desire as her fingers skimmed over his forearm. For luck, she’d said. Considering every other obstacle between them, he had a feeling they might need as much of that as they could get. He might need it to help keep his hands off her, for a start. He’d definitely need it to keep his body under control for the next few months.
If this was what being married to her was going to feel like, then the sooner he left, the better.
‘Let’s hope it works.’ He offered an arm gruffly and steeled himself for her touch. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
Juliana looked down at the gold band on her finger, then back at the hall, dazzled by the sight and scale of the decorations. Yule was almost upon them and the room had been decked out early with garlands of holly and ivy, laurel, mistletoe, rosemary and bay, as if everything green outside had been transplanted indoors. There were even evergreen boughs, decorated with brightly coloured ribbons and beads, so that it looked less like a hall than a forest lit up with a hundred glittering candles. The bailey had been decorated, too, filled with row upon row of makeshift tables, all illuminated by torches, so that everyone in the area could be accommodated for the wedding feast. Everyone seemed to have come, too, filling the castle with noise and excitement, colour and laughter, all the things that had been absent for so long. Even in her father’s day, she’d never seen the place look quite so magnificent. The whole effect was breathtaking.
The feast itself had come as an even bigger surprise. She’d expected chicken stew at the most, but instead she’d been presented with a trencher of goose and partridge. To top that off, she’d discovered a bowl of candied fruits set on the table in front of her, delicacies which must surely have come from Devizes, though her new husband hadn’t touched any of them, as if he’d bought them especially for her.
She sipped nervously at the cup of wine that he’d poured her. He was drinking ale, as usual, but tonight she’d wanted something stronger. The ceremony had gone well, the feast even better, and if she drank, she could almost believe it was all real and not just a marriage forced on them by circumstance. Besides, she needed courage for the bedding ceremony ahead. It was getting late and surely they’d be retiring soon...
The knot of anxiety in her stomach twisted at the thought, accompanied by the first stirrings of a headache. The gentle harp and flute music that had started the evening had been replaced first by fiddles and then increasingly raucous singing. Now their soldiers seemed to be comparing English and Angevin drinking songs, competing as to who could sing the loudest. Her ears were ringing, but at least they were in a celebratory mood, which was more than she could say for her husband. He’d looked at her so strangely when she’d first come down to the hall that she’d felt all her newfound confidence evaporate. Then he’d seemed almost determined not to look at her since. He’d been severe and stern and as much like a statue as she’d ever seen him, as if the ceremony were just a chore he wanted to get over with. When he’d asked her to marry him in the bailey, he’d seemed to genuinely care about her answer, but now he seemed to have no feelings at all. They appeared to be right back where they’d started.
Besieged and Betrothed Page 21
